


Empty Plate

by cherryblossomstump



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Peterick, Ryden, Slightly triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossomstump/pseuds/cherryblossomstump
Summary: slight trigger warning for eating disorder~As soon as the door shut behind Brendon, he dashed for the bathroom. He needed to see the scale. Had it gone up yesterday?No. It was less. Now Ryan could easily count all of his ribs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why are there 5000 characters for an authors note
> 
> anyway yes this has a trigger warning.......I never explicitly describe anything so it's not really bad at all I don't think
> 
> I also don't own panic! or fob

Brendon did not need to figure out what was up with Ryan.

Sure, he was skinny, but he had always been that way. Sure, he barely ate anything, but he had always had such bad stomachaches after a huge meal. And sure, there were some nights when he was knelt in front of a toilet bowl, trying desperately not to wake his sleeping boyfriend, but he didn't have the best immune system. That's what he told himself.

But the thing about Ryan is that he's a shitty liar.

So when Brendon finally started becoming suspicious of his behavior, finding the smallest ways to stay by him while he ate, Ryan felt scared. He had never stopped to realize how dangerous this was, puking up everything to the point where he could barely nibble bread. Now it had taken over his life and it was spiraling out of control.

 

~

 

"Ryan, my man!" Pete's voice rang out in the club. Ryan winced when he grabbed his arm. A drunk Pete was not something he wanted to deal with.

"Pete," he said, much softer than the man clinging to him like a koala. It was ridiculous, because Pete was nearly bigger than Ryan and Ryan was on his way to skin and bones-

But we don't talk about it.

"How have you been?" Pete slurred into his ear, leaning heavily on Ryan, who almost crashed into another dancer. Why did he decide coming to a club was a good idea?

"Fine," Ryan said, forcing himself to believe it. "Who'd you come here with?"

"Patrick. Pattycakes. Trick. Rickster," Pete giggled, obviously drunk off his ass.

Ryan sighed. "Where is he?"

"By the bar," Pete said, attempting to point there as well. His finger came nowhere near the intended target. "I'm in love with him, you know."

"Yes, Pete, we all know. I'm still not sure how he doesn't," Ryan replied, searching the bar for Patrick. He was sitting on his phone, looking very uncomfortable while a couple made out intensely next to him.

"Ryan, why are your arms so thin? They're like noodles!" Pete exclaimed, still giggling maniacally.

Ryan gulped, detaching Pete’s hand from his arm. "Let's just get you to Patrick, okay?"

 

~

 

Ryan looked up from his seat in the cafe to see Spencer sliding into the booth across from him. They had been waiting to meet up for weeks, ever since running into each other in the bookstore across the street. Spencer and Ryan had been roommates in college, and had been dying to meet up for some time. The only setback was that Ryan had changed his phone number when he graduated.

“Ryan,” Spencer said, grinning. “Is that coffee any good?”

He unconsciously took a sip of it. “Amazing.”

Spencer looked pleased with himself. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Ryan laughed. “You did. How’s life?”

“It’s shitty as always, but I’m fine. Haven’t been kicked out of my apartment yet, which is nice.”

Ryan leaned back. “You’re still playing drums?”

He remembered the day he first moved into the dorm room for college. His parents had been there, insisting on standing by the car so he could “get to know his roommate”. His stuff was already moved into the room, sitting neatly on the left bed so he and his roommate could decide where everything went. There had been only stacked boxes on the other side, where “Spencer Smith” had been scrawled in messy handwriting on them.

Then Spencer had walked in. His green polo was wrinkled in places and the sleeves were shoved up his arm, his hair was messy and smile crooked, but Ryan knew they would get along well. Later that night, they had both struggled to get all of their boxes unpacked quickly. It didn’t work out that well.

“What’d you put in here, a drumset?” Ryan had panted, trying not to drop a ridiculously heavy box.

“Actually,” Spencer had said, dropping a smaller box on his bed. “Yes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” Spencer said now, bringing his coffee to his lips. He pushed a cupcake towards Ryan. “Want some?”

“Nah, not hungry,” Ryan said, hiding his fidgeting hands in his lap. Spencer would immediately know he was lying.

But Spencer only wrinkled his brow and pulled the cupcake back. Ryan stifled a relieved sigh.

 

~

 

“Two chocolate chip muffins, please,” Ryan told the lady at the counter.

She smiled sweetly at him. The obnoxious pink banner behind her advertised new pastries for sale. “Both for you?”

Ryan’s grin faltered. “No, actually. They’re for my boyfriend.”

Her smile never wavered, although he saw something in her eyes shift. It was a look he had seen often in other people. It meant they were concerned for him. Unsurprisingly, Ryan was starting to hate that look.

His body was fine. He was reaching his goal of 115 pounds. It was a little more than he wanted, but he knew if it was less, people would find out. They couldn’t find out. Never.

She grabbed another muffin and threw it in the bag. “This one’s on the house,” she said as she handed it over to him. “You need to get a little meat on those bones.”

Ryan still felt guilty hours after he had tossed the extra muffin in a dumpster two blocks from the cafe.

 

~

 

Ryan dashed for the phone and got there just in time. Leaning back against the counter, he brought it up to his ear and said, “Hello?”

“RYAN.” Patrick’s voice came over the line, clear and loud. Ryan winced.

“Yes?”

“Why aren’t you here? We’ve been waiting on you. We can’t get a hold of Brendon either.” Patrick sounded slightly upset about this. Ryan had known Brendon wasn’t available for the day, but apparently his boyfriend had forgotten to mention it to anyone else.

“Where exactly am I supposed to be?”

“The cake testing. For the wedding.”

Shit.

“I’m sick-”

“Ryan Ross, if you refuse to show up I will get Pete to drive over to your house and drag you over here. I need you, buddy. You wouldn’t ignore your best friend’s wedding, would you?”

Silence.

“No, Patrick,” Ryan finally sighed. “No, I wouldn’t. Where is it?”

He could _feel_ Patrick’s smile through the phone. He would probably regret this.

 

~

 

Brendon’s hand was cold where it was pressed up against Ryan’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re fine?” he asked.

Ryan nodded once. It was the day after cake testing. Patrick had made him eat so many samples his throat was raw from the aftermath. It hurt just to whisper.

“Okay,” Brendon said, voice soft. “Get some rest and remember, don’t speak. It will make the pain worse.”

Brendon thought Ryan had the flu.

As soon as the door shut behind Brendon, he dashed for the bathroom. He needed to see the scale. Had it gone up yesterday?

No. It was less. Now Ryan could easily count all of his ribs.

 

~

 

"Hey Ryan," Brendon called from the small living room in their cheap apartment. "There's that new Italian place in town, want to check it out Friday?"

Ryan felt his stomach drop out from underneath him. It was Tuesday, and there was a reason he had avoided that place. Their servings tended to be large, and it was crowded. There was no way he could eat that much, even without making himself throw it up. His stomach just wasn't strong enough.

He felt himself half turn from his place in the hallway. "Yeah," he said, and his voice sounded far away to even his own ears.

"Great!" The sound of the TV being restarted allowed Ryan to finally breath and quietly sprint down the hallway.

He pushed away the beginning of a panic attack. This will turn out fine, he told himself. He hoped.

 

~

 

“Ryan, my baby!”

Ryan turned around. He and Brendon were at the supermarket, hands linked as they walked down the candy aisle. Sometimes, Ryan thought that Brendon was a child transported to the body of an adult. There was no way anyone could be that enthusiastic all the time.

His mother was standing behind him.

He blinked, and suddenly he was engulfed by the scent of grapefruit. It was his mother’s favourite perfume, and she wore it everywhere. She squeezed him so hard it felt like his bones were going to break. His hand instinctively tightened on Brendon’s.

“Mom,” he said, voice muffled by her bright pink sweatshirt. “Hey.”

“George Ryan Ross III, don’t you dare ‘hey’ me. I’ve been waiting for you to call me for weeks! Oh, hello, Brandon.”

“It’s, uh, Brendon actually,” Brendon said, looking uncomfortable.

“Whoops, sorry about that, dear.” She didn’t look very sorry. “So George, how have you been doing?”

Ryan shifted. His mother insisted on calling him George even though he felt that was too closely linked to his father.

She didn’t care.

“Fine. I’m living with Brendon now, and Patrick’s having his wedding soon.”

His mother ditched the first part of that statement for the latter. “Patrick’s getting married? Oh, my! He’s such a nice boy, don’t you think? Who’s the lucky girl?”

Ryan exchanged glances with Brendon before looking up into his mother’s eyes. He didn’t get his hazel eyes from her golden brown ones. They were from his father. “Er, um. It’s not a girl, mom. It’s a guy.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Mom,” Ryan started. He knew his mother disapproved of ‘that lifestyle’. “Patrick’s pansexual. He likes everybody.”

“Is he now?” She looked thoughtfully at some candy corn to her left. “I guess I can see that. He’s such a sweet boy. Who is he, then?”

“Pete Wentz,” Ryan winced.

His mother hummed. Her disapproval of their old neighbor seemed to have disappeared.

Now or never.

“And, um, mom?”

“Yes, George?” She turned from studying the candy corn. 

“I’m gay.”

She didn’t speak. Her kohl-rimmed eyes were wide.

“Brendon’s my boyfriend,” he rambled on, clutching the other’s hand. Brendon was his lifeline, keeping him from falling off the cliff. “We’ve been dating since high school. That’s why he was around so much. I don’t know if it changes anything-”

“George,” she interrupted. “It’s okay. I still love you.”

Ryan head lifted. “Really?”

“Yes. The thing I’m worried about is why you look like you just crawled out of a concentration camp.”

Ryan gasped, tears pricking his eyes. _What?_

Brendon, meanwhile, was fuming. “What gives you the right to say that?” he spat at her. “You’re Ryan’s mom, not an asshole freshman who thinks it’s okay to say those things!”

She narrowed her eyes defensively. It was almost funny how fast she could go from supporting mother to condescending parent. “I will tell George whatever I want. It is the truth. He looks like a walking corpse.”

“It’s Ryan, actually. Just leave him alone, and don’t even try to contact him. I’m not afraid to go to jail.” And with that, Brendon tucked a shaking Ryan into his side and made his way out the door.

_It’s not that bad, is it? Do I really look that horrible?_

Ryan trembled harder. Maybe it was that bad. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

 

~

 

Ryan looked down at himself in the changing room mirror. The pale blue shirt hung off his frame, much too big to fit him. His sharp shoulders looked like they were ready to pierce through the shirt.

“Shit,” he whispered. He rechecked the size. It was a small.

He looked despairingly at the other shirts in the pile. He had grabbed the smallest sizes of each one. It looked like even that wasn’t small enough to make it look like he wasn’t drowning in fabric.

He was really glad Brendon wasn’t there to see his dilemma. 

Sighing, he changed back into his own shirt and scooped up the others. He wouldn’t be fitting into these.

He wandered around the store after dumping the shirts in the “Return to Racks” bin, no longer interested in shopping. It looked like he would have to order his clothes online from now on.

Later, when Brendon asked why he came home empty handed, Ryan shrugged and told him he couldn’t find anything he liked. Brendon’s eyebrows had furrowed but he hadn’t said a thing.

 

~

 

Ryan shot up in bed, a cold sweat covering his body. It made him feel dirty and gross. The nightmare still swirled in colours on his eyelids and the weight of realization crushed his chest. Next to him, Brendon stirred, rubbing his eyes. "Ryan?" he asked, voice clouded with sleep.

"I have a problem," Ryan whispered, tears welling in his eyes. Even if it was hard to admit, he knew he needed to. He wasn’t going to get better without help, and he was too afraid to ask. Maybe Brendon would walk out on him. Maybe throw in a couple of insults that Ryan would for sure take to heart. He deserved to. He deserved someone better than Ryan.

He felt Brendon sit up and wrap his arms around Ryan's midsection. "I know," Brendon said into his shoulder, the feeling of lips against his skin sending shivers down his spine. "I know. And believe me, I can help you."

And Ryan believed him.


End file.
